


Give Me Hope

by timmyyturnerr



Category: The Avengers, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Merida is a bigger mix of nat and clint than katniss is, Should it be merida romanoff or merida barton, and nataha's a curly redhead, becuase clint is blonde, but we all know who wears the pants in the relationship, i like merida barton, i wanted the baby to be named Katniss but, idk - Freeform, natasha does, okay i'm done now, please excuse my extremely undeveloped ocs?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:42:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timmyyturnerr/pseuds/timmyyturnerr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tony tries to commit suicide, he gets abducted by strange aliens and he gets a chance to glimpse his future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give Me Hope

I sigh. It’s past midnight. I’m sitting alone in my bedroom. This bedroom used to be our bedroom. Steve should be fast asleep where I am sitting, waking in and out of sleep, and reaching out to my side of the bed to see if I’ve given up in the lab for that night and snuck in next to him.

But he’s gone now. Steve left me two months ago. Because I didn’t love him enough. I ignored him. I wasn’t a good enough man, a good enough lover. So he left me, so he could live life to the fullest. Everyone ignored me, the entire team. I live with everyone, but somehow I never see them. Even Bruce has taken to working in the lab during the day so as to avoid my presence. But it doesn’t matter anyway because I’ve really grown too numb to care.

I’ve considered a lot of different ways to die, but the one I’ve come across was probably the best way out. Two months ago, I would’ve never even considered suicide. I was happy. I thought Steve was happy. I was wrong. The lights are dim. I stop breathing for just a minute, to see if I can hear anyone talk. Down the hallway, I can hear Natasha requesting JARVIS. But I know she’s going to be too late. The door is locked and barricaded with a chair, and I’m already in a cold sweat. My heart is beating desperately, but it’s going to be no use. 

A few minutes later, my body is controlling itself, I’m not doing anything. I go in and out of the bathroom to dry heave, but nothing comes out as I haven’t eaten in days. I stumble back to the bedroom, and sit for a moment. I feel the pain. I curl back onto the bed, the sheets, the blankets and pillows that still smell like him, and I feel a rush of pain that has nothing to do with the fact I’m killing myself. The last thing I see before the world goes black is my arc reactor, lying on the bed side table and not in my chest where it should’ve been half an hour ago.

…

When I wake up, I’m not in a hospital. There aren’t any faint beeping noises in the distance, no one calling my name in surprise as my eyes flutter open. I think, maybe it’s because no one cares, but that thought is diminished as the blur of my sleep fades away and I check my surroundings. 

My wrists and ankles are bound to a table. I am in a strange, domed room, although the walls which also count as the ceiling are a bright blue, and the floor is carpeted, plush, and white. The table I’m on isn’t a table, either, like a hospital bed but much more comfortable. My head is resting on a pillow. I can feel the arc reactor in my chest. The room is lit by round lights in the blue walls. 

Surrounding me are three people. Two woman and a man, each of them wearing purple jumpsuits with assorted pockets, none of them with name tags. I don’t say anything, but I glare at the man, who is looking at me while the two woman work on something that’s out of my view. The man has curly blonde hair and blue eyes. His eyes are so blue that it hurts as he stares right at me, almost as if he’s under the control of the tesseract. But I know that’s not the case, as the bright blue of his eyes are encircled by dark blue, and then the rest white, like a normal person’s eye. He smiles at me. I don’t smile back.

“Mr. Stark, we are very disappointed in you,” he says, shaking a finger at me. I suddenly realize how clean the room is, so crazily clean; I realize I’m wearing a purple jumpsuit, too. I don’t feel self-conscious. The women come into my view. One woman is black with curly hair that points in every direction, and the other is white and has long hair that falls past her waist. They both have the blue eyes of the man in front of me. They look so clean. They are both almost breathtakingly beautiful, but I’m not attracted to them. I’m not attracted to anyone. Except him. Steve. His name still burns to think about, like painful adrenaline.

“What am I doing here?” I ask, my voice blank and drained of emotion. He shakes his head at me. “That does not matter,” he says. “what matters is that you attempted to commit suicide. Why you would do something as foolish as that, I do not know. But that does not matter. We are here to change your mind, and to help you.” He smiles at me kindly. The black woman hands the blonde woman a syringe full of some sort of thick green liquid, and without hesitation, she stabs it- literally- into my forearm. I don’t make a noise- it’s not like it hurts or anything- but, what the fuck.

“What did you just give me?” I demand angrily, but the man ignores my protests, my pulling against my restraints. The black woman starts stroking my forehead, and I look at her, angry and confused, and think, is this bitch trying to comfort me? My thoughts are silenced, everything is silenced, as the world goes black again.

…

When I wake up this time, it’s as if I had blinked. I had gone from lying on some bed to standing in the middle of a wedding. It is, admittedly, beautiful. White flower petals fall every now and then, a thin layer of them are all over the place. At least two hundred people sit in white chairs surrounding me. I realize I’m standing in the middle of the aisle, and I’m surprised no one has noticed me. Then, I look up, and I gasp so loud I scare myself. No one looks up.

The two people getting married are Steve and me. Quickly, I walk forward, and still, no one notices me. They simply continue to look at Steve and whoever it is being myself. In the front row is the team, Pepper and Rhodey, Coulson and Fury, all staring fondly at us- at Steve and some doppelganger. Pepper is crying, and Jesus, so is Rhodey. I look angrily at whoever has cloned me or something, and I try to grab his arm. But my hand just goes right through. Frustrated, I try again. Then, as “I” begin to speak, the scene freezes. I would’ve just thought everything had just gone still if it wasn’t for the fact that some flower petals- all of them- had simply quit moving right in the air. 

“Please stop trying to commit homicide to your future self,” says a voice behind me. I turn sharply, and standing behind me is the blue eyed man who’s put me here in the first place. Now, he’s wearing a tux and smiling fondly at me. I glare at him. “What’s going on?” I demand angrily. He sighs, but not frustrated. He pretends to smooth down his jacket and looks at me.

“We have allowed you to look into the future, Tony,” he says, “to experience what will happen to you. If you kill yourself, there will be no point. None of this,” he gestures to Steve and I, “will happen. We are going to show you your future, Tony, and show you that everything is going to be just fine. We are going to give you hope. Now, please, shut up and watch your wedding.” He says. I raise my eyebrows at him, and blink, but he is gone. The wedding resumes, and I hear myself saying, “I do,” awkwardly. I turn again, and there I am, there we are.

We are hand in hand, smiling at each other. A priest is standing behind us. I am visibly nervous, and I could see that; I’m not good with commitment. Add that to the list of reasons Steve doesn’t love me anymore. Steve is calm, giving me a look like, calm down, everything is going to be okay. And then, the priest says, “You may now kiss the groom,” and I kiss Steve. I can almost feel it on my lips. Just as the crowd stands up, applauding and whooping loudly, the scene changes.

I am standing on a beach. There’s a small house in the distance, and I am unlocking the front door while Steve carries in our luggage from a rental car, hidden among tropical trees. As he approaches me, though, he has no intentions of entering the house. He kisses me, and we fall to the beach, laughing and holding each other. I am happy. Steve loves me. I love him. I can almost feel the pulsating beat of my heart. The two of us make love on the beach. I don’t watch, because the scene changes. 

I’m standing in the corner of a room. It’s dark. I fumble around the walls for a bit before I remember that it wouldn’t make a difference because I can’t touch anything anyway. As I start to piece together the logic of how I can’t touch anything but I’m still resting against a wall, the door opens, and the light turns on. The bedroom is painted light blue. In the corner is a crib, made of nice wood. There’s a small toy box in the corner. Beside me is a blue changing station. The curtains of the window are drawn. Steve and I enter the room.

“Welcome home, Peter,” says Steve, and I realize, inside of Steve’s large arms, is a baby. He can’t be older than one, and he has a bit of brown hair. He has big, brown eyes. He’s not crying, just looking curiously. I stand beside Steve, looking tired. I realize, we must have adopted a child. I never before thought I would have kids. Who else would be able to persuade me besides Steve? 

Steve and I walk toward the crib and lower Peter slowly into the crib, and he still doesn’t make a noise. He puts his foot in his mouth. Steve and I watch him for a few more moments, just smiling. I rub his back and kiss his temple. He tells me, “Everything’s gonna be okay,” and the scene changes. 

“Say hello to your sister, Peter,” Steve says, and I’m standing in a living room, the living room of the Avengers mansion. I am standing in the corner, but the me that everyone can see is sitting on the couch. The entire team, plus Pepper, Rhodey, and Coulson, are standing in the room. I am sitting in the middle of the couch, and I am holding a baby, wrapped in a pink blanket. A girl. She has tanned skin and dark brown freckles on her nose and cheeks. Steve is sitting by my side, an arm around me. Peter is in his lap. He’s older now, wearing a t-shirt with a long sleeve shirt underneath. He has messy brown hair and wears thick framed glasses, too big for his face. I realize he must be at least four. He’s smiling at the baby in my arms. 

Peter and the little girl aren’t the only two children in the room, though. on the smaller couch, the loveseat, Clint and Natasha sit. Both of them have wedding rings on. Between them, sits a little girl. She’s tiny, maybe three. She face is covered in freckles, and she has big, blue eyes. Her hair is wildly curly, red flames like Natasha’s. Natasha softly taps her shoulder, and the little girl looks up at her. “Merida, go meet the baby,” she says. I snort, but only I hear it. Of course Clint would convince Natasha to name their baby after the Disney princess.

As the little girl warily slides off of the couch, the scene changes.

I’m standing in the kitchen, and it must be years later. I am sitting between my daughter and my son, Peter. He must be at least fourteen, taller, with messier hair. The girl has long, straight, and messy hair, with wind-swept bangs. She must be ten, and she’s sitting quietly, biting her lip nervously. Peter and I are working with something that looks like a science project. Peter is clearly a natural engineer, and I wonder if the girl will follow in his path. “Becca, put pressure right there,” I say quietly. My ten-year-old daughter presses onto a part of the little box. It begins to make whirring noises, and then, it stands, and walks around, not requiring Becca’s assistance. Peter, Becca and I all scream out of excitement, and two other children run in.

Merida, older now, with wilder curls and bluer eyes runs in, followed by a boy most likely younger than Becca, with curly black hair and glasses, run in and celebrate with us. I, the invisible version, smile. The youngest boy is inevitably Bruce’s son. I wonder how he managed to have children without passing on the Hulk’s genes. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe boy hulks out, too.

The scene changes. I’m standing in a larger kitchen, renovated. The non-invisible future version of me is standing in the middle of some sort of island counter, watching Steve cook. I still look like me, except my growing hair line sports a few gray hairs. I wonder how many years it’s been, but my thoughts are interrupted by my son and daughter entering the room. Peter and Becca have both woken up, and I realize it’s the morning. Seeing on the oven stove that it’s almost noon, it must be a weekend. Peter is almost as tall as Steve, skinny. He’s wearing boxers and a t-shirt, and he plops down onto a seat, with a “good morning, dads,”. 

While Peter must be at least seventeen, for someone with a four year difference, who should just be thirteen, she looks his exact age. Tall, with long straight hair. She wears sweatpants and a t-shirt that looks like my Black Sabbath one, far too big on her. The scene doesn’t last long before I’m transported to another one.

This one is blurry and fast, but an argument. Steve and I have just discovered that Peter has some sort of super powers. He’s been calling himself Spider-Man, swinging through the town. He helped take down some sort of lizard-man while the Avengers were out of town. I am angry at him for risking his life. Becca is sitting in the background. Merida is listening through an air vent, older too, but I can’t get a good view. A twelve-year-old son of Bruce’s is watching with Becca, looking awkward. 

The scene switches. I am in the front row of a Stark Expo. Someone announces “Tony Stark-Rogers and Rebecca Stark-Rogers and I fly into the picture, wearing the Iron Man suit. Following me is another Iron Man suit, but clearly shielding a woman, the colors blue and silver. We are disarmed, and the crowds applaud. I am older, but I still look like me, just with more gray hair. Becca must be at least nineteen, and I wonder why the hell I let her have an Iron Man suit. She must’ve persuaded me. She is wearing shorts and, oh my god, high heels. How did she manage to wear the suit with high heels? My thoughts are interrupted by the introduction of Peter Stark-Rogers-Parker and Steve Rogers-Stark, and Steve runs nervously onto the stage, while Peter literally swings in, landing beside Rebecca. He pulls off a mask and grins at the crowd. I begin to announce something about Stark Industries, but I can’t hear because the scene changes.  
I am standing in the street, apparently during a battle. But the Avengers are not fighting, not that I can see for the moment. 

A man and a woman literally drop in from the sky. The man has short, raven colored hair and green eyes. Almost unmistakably Loki’s son. He almost looks like Darcy, too. The woman has two long, thick, blonde braids and shiny blue eyes. She’s Thor and Jane’s daughter. The boy, Loki’s son, wears a helment similar to Loki’s, and his same getup. The woman wears a tighter, womanlier version of Thor’s armor and cape. She holds a smaller version of Thor’s mjolnir. The two smile at each other, and they stand and wait.

Not long after, I hear two loud growls and off of a building leap two Hulks. One of them is smaller. I had been right; Bruce’s son was also the Hulk. Following them are Thor and Loki, Loki grimacing at his brother as Thor carries him from the sky. He falls to the ground and grins at his daughter, momentarily embracing her as Loki grins at his son. It isn’t long before the rest follow. 

Merida runs from the building behind me, running through me. Her hair is pulled tightly into a bun, but strands fall into her face. She’s wearing an outfit similar to Clint’s Hawkeye, but a sort of mix of Natasha’s catsuit. She smiles at the others, she must be at least twenty-five or older. “Good to be back. Where’s Peter and Becca?” she says. I wonder what she means, but my thoughts are interrupted by the Iron Man suit flying in containing my daughter, and Peter swinging in. I wonder where Steve and I are. As I wonder this, the scene changes. 

Steve and I are old. All my hair is gray, and my facial hair, too. Steve is unmistakably younger than I am, but not by much. I could be in my eighties, him in his sixties. Of course his aging is slower. I’m aware I am going to die much faster than Steve then, and it breaks my heart just a little. We are sitting in a park, holding hands quietly. My head is on his shoulder. Steve and I have grown older together. I wonder what Natasha and Clint look like, Bruce. Thor and Loki will live forever. I wonder the fate of Jane and Darcy. They have probably offered them immortality. I must have denied it. Maybe Clint and Natasha took it. I know immortality is such a simple thing to offer; it’s a drink you can offer to mortals in Asgard. But, anyway.

It’s peaceful. Quiet. No one runs by to interrupt us. The cars are beeping and people are yelling in the background, but faintly. I doubt the visible version, the older version of me can hear anyway. I smile. I realize, there is hope for my future. And then I hear a voice.

“You have two options,” he says. I turn, and I look at him. The blue eyed, mysterious man. I raise my eyebrows at him. “You may watch your death, see how it all ends, or you can simply wake up now, and continue your life.” He offers. I raise my eyebrows.

“Will I remember any of this?” I say, gesturing towards the older version of Steve and I. He shakes his head. “No. But you will feel a sense of purpose. You will understand. You will get to experience your life. Why would we send you back if you already know how your entire life will go? That just seems silly,” he scoffs. I smile, despite everything. I take a breath. “Okay, wake me up.” I say, and he replies, “If you wish,” and the scene changes.

…

When I wake up, I’m in the hospital. I think, what the fuck did I do to myself, but I don’t move. Someone is holding my hand. Steve. My Steve, warm and big and soft and loving. I love him so much. He’s here. That’s all I wanted. I want to hold him.

He is talking to me. I rouse enough to hear him say, “Everything is going to be okay,”

I believe him.

**Author's Note:**

> so??? i wrote this last night


End file.
